Showing posts with label photos. Show all posts
Showing posts with label photos. Show all posts

Friday, January 22, 2010

Photochop

January has been bad in terms of my posts. Ah knoooow, y'all. Special apologies to Hayley in Malawi, whose blog updates have brought me many smiles and laughs: I am sorry I have not been adequately contributing new lame thoughts for you to read.

So, many many months ago, I created a Christmas list. On this list sat one sole item, bolded, italicized, underlined, hyperlinked to itself -- you name it: Adobe Photoshop.

My parents, being the kind and generous people that they are, granted my Christmas wish, and I am forever grateful. My creepations have increased infinifold in their realism and number. (Full disclosure: it's Photoshop Elements. I'm not complaining--beggars and choosers, as they say--just informing.)

I've gone from crass creations:



























But the thing about Photoshop, this gift that keeps on giving, is that it makes me realize just how greatly and convincingly photos are altered when they are airbrushed. Now, I know this is not a novel thought, but playing around with the liquidation filter, especially when I use pictures of myself, stirs up a lot of mixed emotions. Maybe emotions is too strong a word. Feelings. (Now I want to sing that Sesame Street song. No, staying focused.)

On the one hand, it's great for those photos that you would've loved if only your hair weren't in your face/you didn't have that pimple/you had remembered to suck in your stomach. With Photoshop, click-click, you love the photo. But part of me has to wonder whether it's the photo that I love, or just the click-clicked me. With enough money and low self esteem, who's to say I wouldn't try to snip-snip or tuck-tuck my way to click-click? (Enough sounds-sounds? Got it.)

Also, what does this say about the integrity of photographic evidence? I've seen many a troll commenting on sites like FMyLife.com with the line "pics or it didn't happen." Well, dear troll, you give me an afternoon with my laptop and I'll show you pics, though it never happened.

This is not to imply that FML is comparable to a court of law. I'm still pretty new to Photoshop, but what if someone enhances the pictured damages done to their car/body after they've been repaired/healed? Is there a way to prove that the pixels have been rearranged? I don't know, maybe there is. Just wondering.

But, going back to the standard-of-beauty issue that airbrushing presents, clearly it is not always obvious to the average consumer just how many (and to what extent) images have been digitally retouched. It is for this reason that Valérie Boyer wants all advertisement photos that are digitally altered to be published with a label indicating that they have been retouched.

I don't feel too strongly one way or the other on requiring a label, because I already assume that most advertisements are airbrushed. What I would really like to see is just less (or less extreme) airbrushing. It's no coincidence that airbrushing and plastic surgery are both much more common practices than they used to be.
Blasphemy: In a matter of minutes, I've "touched-up" the untouchable.

For me, many of those flawless magazine pictures look more like illustrations than they do photos. It's as though the models are characters from a pixar movie: they're nice to look at, and they definitely resemble humans, but they wouldn't translate naturally to real life.

After all, when a standard of beauty is something that a computer has created, meeting that standard is something only a surgeon can produce.
 In this case, some ideals are better left on paper.


Harlanguazon.com says, 
If you liked this post, you might also enjoy:
http://www.Photoshopdisasters.blogspot.com
http://www.dearphotoshopgirl.blogspot.com

Friday, November 20, 2009

It's the Most Wonderful Time for Some Tears


Oh my eggnog, how I love this photo.
I don't know if it's Griffin's look of stupefied shock as I bitterly clutch his hand and give Lydia one heck of a side-eye, or Caroline's perversely pleased expression as she watches her baby sister (seemingly) eat her own hand in horror. I can't pick.

Aahh, (sigh or scream? Your guess is as good as mine.) the holidays.

This reminds me, I hope I don't cry (like I did last year) when we attempt to take the family photo. It really throws off my 'smile for the camera.'

(Can't say my dad's "Margaret, stop looking so dopey" helped much either.)

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Oh, [I'm a] Dream Maker, You...


...Heartbreakers of my childhood got me thinking.

Maybe I can use my love of shoddily editing myself into photos (a love that I've actually kept hidden from this blog until now) to make some of my older sister's childhood dream (boats) come true. Yes. How productively unproductive.

You're welcome, Caroline.



Also, I had to fulfill one of my own dreams too.

Because Sex doesn't sell, Embarrassing does.

For many years now, I have classified certain instances as "butt clench moments" regardless of whether or not my partner(s) in conversation are familiar with my coined classification. Right now, I'm feeling considerate (or is that listlessness? eh.) so I'll be more thoughtful than usual and take the time to clarify.

butt clench moment, n. /bʌt klɛntʃ ˈmoʊmənt/
1. Occurrence when a person is embarrassed, either vicariously and/or personally, to the extent that he or she cringes so much that his or her butt clenches. (Toes might also curl, but not a requirement.)
Etymology: 2000, MHG coined the term to describe the way she felt when the boy cast as Joseph in that year's Christmas pageant started crying on stage after a failed attempt to warble his solo. 


Now that we're all the wiser, I'd like to share the source of some of my personal BCMs.
A list of my celebrity crushes throughout the years after the jump.

Friday, September 4, 2009

In the Ladies' Room

I spy a broken promise.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Lapping up the last days of Summer


Bailey on the Minute Man bike path in Lexington.

MORE PHOTOS AFTER THE JUMP

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Saturday, a Day for Favorite Things: Part II

"Silver White Winters"



Liz: Being with Dennis is easy. If you give into it, you just start to feel kind of numb, and warm, and then you just get sleepy. It's not that bad.
Jenna: That's exactly what they say it's like when you freeze to death.

I know I watch an unhealthy amount of 30 Rock.
I know: I watch an unhealthy amount of 30 rock.
But instead of focusing on the negative, i.e. my "friends" are mere television characters, I'm choosing to bring positivity to non-fictional people--dare I say, friends? (someday? You can comment later)--i.e. anyone who happens to stumble across this blog.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Rainy Thursday

Monday, August 10, 2009

My Father, The Weirdo

This is how I found him, a couple minutes after he finished his bowl (see item on head) of chips.
Apples and trees...

Laundromat Politics

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Two is my favorite number

So it's a day late, but warm birthday wishes are in order for the twins (especially because half of the wishes are traveling transAtlantic.) Three pictures of my favorite two.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Little Darling, Big Sister

                                              
Happy Birthday, Caroline.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Splendor in the Past

I saw this nest of raindrops in the grass and wondered what the chaos would look like from below.
Reminds me of playing parachute in preschool.
We'd lift the multicolored tarp over our heads then sit underneath, tucking its edges under our chubby legs and marveling at the rainbow-colored cocoon we had created.  

But our toddler-sized bottoms couldn't keep the air in, and our evanescent little world would inevitably deflate.
So we'd scamper out from under the sagging fabric, throw up our arms, and start the process all over again. 

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Teach your children well

I saw this and had to photograph it. It's a reminder to respect my elders.